Revelations
by RadLad
Summary: Pirate AU? Pirate AU. Everyone's a pirate. Dean wants revenge. Cas is wanted for desertion. Crowley's got some plans for usurpation. The Unholy War is raging on, but is it just a front for something even darker? Probably! Team Free will tries and kinda fails to save the world in every universe. (Might be some deancas later on. I like deancas. Lotsa TFW.)


Sup. I don't own Supernatural. This is my first fanfic in quiiiiite a long time, so bear with the clumsy writing. Gotta get in the groove. Chapter 2 should be up soon.

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The sound of metal ringing against metal cut through the night air as the two men engaged each other in the abandoned warehouse. Moonlight filtered in from dirty shattered windows and glinted off their blades.

He's fast, Dean Winchester thought as he ducked under yet another strike. He had not anticipated this sort of speed in a soldier. They had more of a tendency toward brute force in terms of combat, much like his own preferred style. Better suited for facing multiple foes in the heat of battle. It was a far cry from the finesse with which the man in front of him wielded his curious silver short sword.

Dean parried and slashed and blocked.

Parry.

Slash.

Block.

On and on they fought, in a flurry of singing steel and heaving breaths. How long had they been at it? He'd been confident enough when he put forth the challenge, but now? Thus far, it had been a bloodless battle, but Dean wasn't sure how long that would last.

He blinked away at sweat that was stinging his eyes, trying to keep his breathing steady. This particular fight was going on much longer than he cared for it to. He'd been trained for short, efficient engagements. Heavy blows, breaking defenses and bone. Not swinging at empty air, blade slicing through emptiness that had held a body not an instant before.

His opponent had stamina as well as speed, it would seem. He's playing with me, Dean realized. Tiring him out. Waiting for him to drop.

Dean attempted another strike, aiming for the knees. Below the belt, he knew, but he wasn't exactly keen on following any sort of honor code.

The ex-soldier had apparently grown used to dirty tactics in his time away from the stiffly formal military halls. Or perhaps he had actually been on the battlefield, where a desperate enemy would do anything if it meant living another day. Either way, he was prepared for it. He lept back, narrowly avoiding serious damage to his kneecaps.

Taking advantage of the new distance between them, Dean straightened up to prepare for another onslaught, adopting an unfamiliar defensive position and observed his enemy. Across from him, the man slid into an unfamiliar stance, brow furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit too long, his skin too tan, and his appearance far too unkempt to be the one Dean was looking for. But the ragged scar etched down his left eye was a dead giveaway. It was absolutely him.

He was panting a bit, black hair damp with sweat, but other than that he seemed as though he could go on indefinitely.

Dean tensed, bracing himself for another flurry of the stranger's lightning fast movements, but they never came. Instead, the man paused, something of a plea in his startlingly blue eyes. Why wasn't he striking? It was obvious that he vastly outmatched Dean in terms of swordplay. A few more clashes and the pirate would surely be dead.

"I do not wish to fight you," His voice was low and rough, his tone beseeching. Not very befitting of a former commander of the royal navy.

Dean watched in silence as the man laid his blade on the floor.

Dean hesitated for a second. Could be a bluff. Of course it could be a bluff. But the odds of getting killed by this man in combat greatly outweighed the odds of getting bluffed. So he nodded, slowly lowering his cutlass, looking for any sign of attack from the other man, who was standing tall and stoic and unarmed. The tip of his blade touched the ground right as he drew a pistol from its holster at his hip and pulling the hammer back all in one smooth movement.

The man frowned, "You're cheating." It wasn't an accusation. Simply a statement of fact.

Dean said nothing. Couldn't bring himself to. He tried to keep a steady aim, focused on drawing a bead right between the man's eyes. It was difficult, as his hands were trembling with rage.

"Have we met before?" The man tipped his head to the side, studying him with narrowed eyes, "Your combat style… I-" Suddenly, he went silent, face blanched, eyes widening, recognition in his gaze, "Oh."

Dean's finger tightened on the trigger, "That's right, you bastard."

He had him. The most wanted man this side of the sea.

Castiel Novak.


End file.
